


Just a Painter

by mywholecry



Category: iCarly
Genre: Body Paint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-13
Updated: 2010-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywholecry/pseuds/mywholecry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer doesn't think Socko will say no, because Socko is amazing, and also because Spencer went along with that role-playing thing he was into a few months ago, with the fur suits and the heavy petting. And if furries don't say, "I love you and hope you'll let me paint on you in a sexy way," he doesn't know what will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Painter

Spencer doesn't think Socko will say no. He's gotten mostly desensitized to Spencer's overwhelming Spencerness by this point, having spent most of their adolescence with Spencer's artwork on his arms and face and any exposed skin. Socko's mom used to spend hours trying too bleach his Chucks to get rid of the tigers and the naked ladies, but Socko would just smile through everything and threaten to beat up any kids who made fun of Spencer, even though Socko is kind of small and not very good at violence.

Spencer doesn't think Socko will say no, because Socko is amazing, and also because Spencer went along with that role-playing thing he was into a few months ago, with the fur suits and the heavy petting. And if furries don't say, "I love you and hope you'll let me paint on you in a sexy way," he doesn't know what will.

*

  
". . .are they non-toxic?" Socko asks, and Spencer hadn't thought to check that, but he says, "Yes, duh, of course," because what kind of person would make toxic edible body paint? A mean person, probably. Anyway, he thinks this is going well, if Socko is more worried about Spencer being poisoned than his intense desire to use Socko as a human canvas.

"Washable?"

"I don't think Crayola makes this kind of paint, if that's what you're asking," Spencer says, "but yes."

"Hmm," Socko says. He kicks out from where he's sitting on the kitchen counter, hooking a leg behind Spencer's knee to draw him in. He reaches a hand up to tug at Spencer's hair, and he's smiling.

"Is that a yes?" Spencer asks.

Socko says, "Maybe," and Spencer puts hands on his waist, pulls him to the floor so they're standing close.

"Would it help," Spencer asks, "if I told you the yellow tastes like banana?"

Socko looks up at him, speculatively.

". . .can Carly stay at Sam's tonight?"

*

Over dinner, Spencer keeps making references to bananas, and Socko keeps choking on his food, and finally Carly says, "You know, you could just _tell_ me that you want to be alone so you can do things I don't want to know about. I'm a big girl."

"Carly," Socko says, "I'd like to be alone with your brother. Intimately."

"We're going to _paint_ ," Spencer says, and it's not even a lie, not like those times he told her that they were practicing for the Iron Man or forming a folk duo.

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Carly asks, but she leaves her dishes in the sink and grabs her jacket. "I'm going to Sam's. I expect everyone to be clothed in the morning."

"Exactly how early do you plan on getting here?" Socko calls, before she's shut the door. She ignores him. Spencer's really, really excited.

They don't bother washing the dishes. In fact, they don't finish eating dinner, because Socko grabs Spencer's arm and pulls him to his bedroom and starts taking off his clothes. Socko's always been enthusiastic like that. So, ten minutes after Carly walked out the door, Spencer has Socko laid out on his stomach, and he's straddling him, painting blue and green patterns with his fingertips down the length of his spine. He's not sure why he doesn't paint more, because this is possibly the coolest thing ever, Socko all sinewy muscle and pale skin below him, squirming a little every time Spencer touches him.

"'s cold," Socko murmurs, but he sounds a little drugged, quiet, and Spencer uses his palm to blend the colors together.

"How would you feel," Spencer asks, "about a _unicorn_?"

Socko laughs, into the pillow.

"I think you're enjoying the painting part of this more than the _me_ part of this."

"Never," Spencer promises, and he likes the way his voice has gone deeper than before, honest, and he doesn't enjoy a lot of things that don't have a Socko involved in them. He runs his hand slowly down to press a paint-slick finger, now a bright bluegreenyellow, inside of Socko, so he makes a pretty noise and pushes up.

"No unicorns, definitely no time for unicorns," Socko says, and Spencer nods even though he knows he can see it, adds another finger and deeper until Socko says something unintelligible, groping behind him to hit Spencer's shoulder. He groans when Spencer pulls his fingers away, but he sits up, falling into a messy kiss. There's already paint dripping onto the white sheets, so it's a lost cause, anyway, cleanliness. While they kiss, Spencer finds the red paint and draws crooked little hearts over Socko's stomach, Socko's hips, and Socko says, breath hitching, "You haven't tasted it yet."

He runs his finger over Socko's lower lip and kisses him again, and he's secretly celebrating how smooth he's being, mental victory arms and confetti, and Socko tastes like strawberry.

Eventually, Spencer moves to the floor and presses his lips to each of the hearts, licks gently so Socko has to bite back laughs and little bursts of breath. When he's got Socko's dick in his mouth, Socko dips his fingers into the paint and makes streaks of color down his cheeks, over his forehead, leaving traces of yellow in his hair.

*

Later that night, when Socko is boneless and sprawled out on the bed again, half-asleep, Spencer takes an hour blending colors and drawing a purple unicorn across the paint that's dried on his back. He sits on top of Socko's legs once he's finished and watches it rise and fall as his breath slows down, and he starts to say, "Can I. . ." but Socko interrupts him.

"No pictures," he says, sleepily. "Because Sam will find it, and it'll end up on iCarly, which my _mother_ watches."

"You're no fun," Spencer says. He crawls off of him to lie down beside him, fitting his arm around his waist. The paint's not dry yet, and they'll probably be stuck together in the morning, but he doesn't really mind.

*

Socko leaves in the morning before Spencer wakes up, and Spencer has to pull the sheets that are stuck to his skin away from him, but when he wanders into the bathroom he sees that Socko's written: _let's do this again sometime, xoxo_ on his stomach. There's a rainbow of pale colors around the drain in the shower, and when Carly sees the yellow paint that won't wash out of his hair yet, she says, "Wait a sec, you were actually painting?"

Spencer smiles at her, innocently.

"Would I lie to you?" he asks, and he goes back to his room to hide the sheets, before she can mention the time he told her that Socko and he were writing a musical about sassy misfit pool sharks and needed her to leave for four to six hours. He doesn't throw the sheets away, though. He thinks they'll probably be useful again, soon.


End file.
